


Town Without Pity

by clayandgraniteplanet



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Horror, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Wanda Maximoff, Panic Attacks, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Wanda and Vision are Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-24 06:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayandgraniteplanet/pseuds/clayandgraniteplanet
Summary: She’s trembling, she can’t go back, going back will kill her. She only made it through the first time because Pietro was there, she isn’t strong enough to do it without Pietro. Strucker will -- Strucker will be excited to see what the Avengers have taught her but she won’t survive any more of his experiments, she’ll make sure of it.“Whoa, hey, hey, Wanda.Wanda.Strucker isn’t... this isn’t Hydra, kid. This sure won’t be a vacation, but it’ll be okay, this is S.H.I.E.L.D. we’re talkin’ about.”Clint is in front of her now, trying to catch her eye. There’s a loud speaker ordering them to stand down.***or, Wanda unleashes the Scarlet Witch not after Endgame, but while imprisoned in the Raft, accidentally creating a nightmare reality for herself and everyone else inside.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Wanda Maximoff & Vision, implied Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 29
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

Wanda had to appreciate Rhodey’s choice to give her a splitting headache instead of actually, you know -- shooting her. She hadn’t tried stopping bullets yet, and wasn’t looking for on-the-job experience. Still, the ringing in her ears was deafening as Vision knelt beside her. Lucky for them, she didn’t need her ears when he spoke.

Her side of the conversation comes out a little strained, she’s sure, but Vision seems to relax while they sit together on the tarmac. He slouches, fear and relief together shining through the cracks of the carefully deadpan expression he’d been wearing since that night at Stark Tower.

That night, they had shared an unspoken understanding of the reality that separates them, a bittersweet promise to meet again on the same side in the future. If she were feeling particularly dramatic, and if she were maybe a little bit drunk, she would call them star-crossed lovers, destined to be apart. 

(Of course, Vision wasn’t her lover, but what other word did she have? Wanda looked down to where Vision was holding her. Their hands were made for the other, for intertwining fingers, flesh and vibranium. Perhaps soulmate was a better term, but “star-crossed soulmates” was too dramatic for her taste. Pietro would have loved it, teased the shit out of her for these lovey-dovey ramblings.)

Part of her feels guilty that she has chosen this, chosen a path that leaves him worried and scared. Vision wasn’t designed with those emotions in mind, he wasn’t built to play babysitter to someone like her.

“It’s as I said: catastrophe.”

And the way he said it... If she had heard those condescending words, that posh accent, her first instinct would have been to lash out, to show him that she could repeat the events of the Tower if that’s what he really wanted. The last thing she wanted was to fight him, but Wanda was never one to shy away from a challenge.

Fortunately, she is currently deafened, and so she hears those words from inside his head rather than from his mouth. She can hear his fear. His eyes, too, they look at her with such love. He had stayed out of the larger scuffles because he knew his power and was afraid of adding more damage and pain to the broken Avengers. She had done the same, staying almost entirely on the defensive and reactionary, the extent of her powers very much unknown and unstable. Another unspoken agreement they shared, to be the damage control.

They share one brief moment simply enjoying their reunion. One brief, cruel moment.

Then she hears Rhodey in Vision’s head, giving him the order to bring Sam down. Maybe if she wasn’t so tired, she could have stopped him, but her arms were shaky from pulling previously untapped strength. More importantly, she was emotionally exhausted, sick of being separated from Vision. She was selfish, too, always selfish -- she wants to stay with him, wants more of him. Burnt out, she surrenders to Team Whoever, to Team Wherever Vision Is.

She thought she was showing herself mercy, showing love to Vision. She should have tried to stop him.

Vision really shouldn’t have attempted a shot like that from so far away, it was out of character for him to make such a risky move. 

She hates the universe for twisting her act of love into violence and guilt, a haunting memory for both Rhodey and Vision. Maybe Stark, and perhaps Sam. This will surely follow her, too -- she remembers every accident she’s caused. Too many.

As Rhodey plummets, Vision untangles himself and launches himself into the air, racing against all odds towards yet another catastrophe. A _true_ catastrophe. They both know those are odds he has no chance of beating.

There’s no chance in hell that Wanda makes it there in time, either, not with her shaky hands and pounding head. If she tried to fly, the Avengers would probably end up with two body-shaped craters on their hands. Double the hospital bills for Stark. As tempting as that thought is, she decides to try and find the other ex-Avengers instead.

Lying down as she is, the tarmac is brutal on her bumps and bruises. Stifling a groan, Wanda tries to sit up, bracing for inevitable aches. Now, alas, verticality results in her headache truly feeling like it’s splitting her head, pain she hasn’t felt in years. 

Vision winces in the distance, more from the sensation of someone stabbing her brain than from what’s happening with Rhodey. Which is truly saying something, Vision feels horrible about what happened. In her peripheral, she’s grateful to see that Rhodey survived the fall. Relieved, she closes the connection. She’s thrown Vision off enough for one day, he doesn’t need this god-awful headache, too.

Shakily rising to her feet, she scans the area for the others. Whatever Rhodey shot at her, combined with massive overexertion when she lifted that tower, makes for a truly impressive hindrance to her telepathy. With Vision it’s always easy to tune in, communicating telepathically is their go-to. Connecting to the others is a bit more complicated, she usually avoids their minds like a dog guiltily avoids its owner’s shoes -- through it really shouldn’t be _this_ hard to find the others.

Through unfocused eyes, Wanda finally sees figures in the distance, Clint and Natasha hugging. They shift from one small, blurry lump, into two and with a flash of red one lump ducks behind what was once an airplane. Wanda starts to move towards Clint, the world tiling occasionally. It’s odd, she thinks, to not hear her footsteps.

He must have been moving towards her as well, and he steadies her with his hands on her shoulders. She stands there, gives him a nod, and begins to look for more of their teammates. 

Suddenly there’s a hand on her cheek and Clint is mouthing words at her. Apparently they weren’t simply enjoying a companionable silence, she couldn’t hear him speaking.

He watches her eyes as they flick up and down is face, from mouth to eyes, and his eyebrows get all scrunchy.

“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you.”

It makes Wanda uneasy to not be able to hear herself, to not be able to keep track of her accent. It marks her as someone who destroyed her home, is a sad reminder of Pietro and her parents and the life she used to live. Natasha had been helping with her English. She had just barely grasped an American accent, though she was far too shy to show anyone but her mentor.

Luckily, Clint doesn’t seem to mind and ignores her self-conscious blushing. He only nods and begins signing to her, clearly trying out multiple languages. She watches, mesmerized. Most of the Avengers know about Clint’s deafness, but each of them swears by a different story for how he lost his hearing. Some seemed to think it happened when he was young, something about a circus, but Nat swears it was on a mission, a mishap with a sonic device like what Rhodey used earlier.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t -- I don’t know any of those. I never learned.”

Clint’s hands stop, and he returns one of them to her bicep, squeezing slightly and offering her a slight smile as his other hand reaches down to hold one of hers. He’s still speaking, words she can’t catch. She can read lips in Sokovian, but Clint is speaking in English and far too quickly. Judging by his wry smile, he’s trying to make light of the situation. He then brings her hand up to his temple and gives her a nod. 

Surprise and rejection must be obvious on her face, because he keeps his grip firm and nods again, maintaining a relaxed stance.

Surely he can’t be serious, she squints at him accusingly. When his gaze doesn’t falter, she drops her eyes and shuffles her feet a bit. Wanda takes a deep breath and reaches for Clint, pulls on her telepathy like she was dipping a toe very cautiously into a pool. A very blunt, dangerous toe into a very vulnerable pool that is also one of her closest friends. 

Nothing.

She tries again, with just a smidge more effort, and dark spots dance where normally her sight would haze red. She removes Clint’s hands and takes a wobbly seat, criss-cross applesauce. 

Once the spots are gone, Clint is seated across from her, looking worried once again. 

“Well, this is new,” she jokes. Her throat feels tight.

He cracks yet another smile that quickly shifts into something more complicated. He’s in his dad-zone, she can tell, has seen this before when she met his kids for the first time.

His eye contact becomes serious, the air shifts, and they stare at each other for a beat. His finger comes up to point at his lips. He wants her to lip read, she realizes, and tries not to pout.

“Uh, I can try? English is not my best so... go slow.”

Watching intently, she is able to parse out the basics of the situation, chuckling at Clint’s theatrical miming when she couldn’t grasp certain words.

Steve and Bucky escaped. Nat helped them. Everyone else must have retreated to lick their wounds. He asks about the other four, the flyers.

“Rhodey, he fell, Vision’s blast hit his suit by accident. He’s still alive, but those four are preoccupied.”

He nods, taking it in stride. He asks about her, about her powers.

“I’m unharmed. Rhodey hit me with sonic disruption, maybe? It was some kind of new military tech, I think it’s interfering with my powers, and of course my hearing. My head hurts like hell, but it isn’t as bad as it was five minutes ago.” 

She begins to rub her eyes, seeking quick relief from the ocular migraine setting in, but drops her hands quickly as she remembers that she needs to see him for his reply. 

He’s just nodding, steady as always. As he thinks about what to say, his eyes drift, like he’s listening for something. He looks at her with a small amount of alarm and is pulling her up to stand next to him before she can ask what he heard. 

Clint begins to move purposefully towards the nearest building entrance, holding her wrist. She manages to match his pace with what she hopes looks like confidence in her step.

He doesn’t turn to look at her, she has no clue what’s happening, or why he breaks into a jog once they’ve crossed about half the runway. His movement is terse, his back is coiled up like he wants to be covering more ground than what Wanda is currently capable of.

The door is thankfully unlocked as Clint shoulders it open, ushering her through the doorway while watching the airfield. He closes the door behind him and her wrist is once again being tugged in front of her, and she knows better than to take the time to ask why they’re running. He had looked scared, and if she could bring herself to make a joke she would tell him that it doesn’t look good on him, that it ages him. She’d call him “old man” for good measure and wait for a matching “hey now, kiddo,” in return.

As they run, Wanda notices pressure building in her ears, their steps thunder like a storm miles away. No longer is the world silent, the world is now underwater, and she can hear ringing overlaying everything.

Clint leads them through the massive building, never breaking stride, until they reach a nondescript side exit. The door opens, and she thinks she hears... sirens? It’s hard for her to be sure, it bleeds into her tinnitus awfully easily.

Her wrist is finally released as they step outdoors. They’ve emerged into what looks like a secluded smoking area, and about five hundred meters away is the edge of a forest.

At last, Clint faces her, looks at her in concern. She realizes belatedly that she’s been breathing loudly, and heavily -- embarrassingly heavily for an Avenger. 

“Clint,” she asks, subtly trying to catch her breath and save face, “Why are we running?” 

“Well, remember how we didn’t sign those Accords? And how we’re both national security threats? And how, when you combine that with the property damage back there,” he wiggles his hand behind them, “you get international agreement that we need to be locked up?”

Oh.

“Time to run,” he continued, “And hey, you weren’t watching my lips, your hearing comin’ back?”

Wanda nods.

Clint looks grim as he turns towards the forest. 

“Any chance your powers are online, too? Those’d be super helpful, kiddo.”

“Uh, no... no, no powers yet,” she croaks out, and clears her throat. Shit. 

Detainment. 

How convenient for Wanda to forget the risks of her choices, behaving as though the worst that could come out of today was an injury, like what happened to Rhodey, or even death. But no, no the worst that could happen was capture.

She can now hear car doors opening and slamming shut and there’s no time anymore. Clint grabs her hand and they run, five hundred meters separating them from freedom, five hundred meters of a wide open, manicured, grass lawn. They have no cover, they are defenseless, Clint had run out of arrows before the fight had ended and Wanda was worse than useless.

Still, they run. Clint runs for his family. Wanda runs for her life.

Four hundred. They make it about four hundred meters, so close to the tree line, before the special ops teams overwhelm them with sheer volume of Kevlar-clad bodies blocking any and all escape. They’re surrounded, in the middle of a massive circle, and Wanda can barely muster up worthless red smoke, her powers still dampened by her headache. The agents are closing in on them, slowly but surely, and she squeezes Clint’s hand hard enough to feel guilty.

“Hey, kid, listen -- it’ll be okay, alright? I’ll be right there with you, we’ll do this together, ‘kay?”

She’s trembling, she can’t go back, going back will kill her. She only made it through the first time because Pietro was there, she isn’t strong enough to do it without Pietro. Strucker will -- Strucker will be excited to see what the Avengers have taught her but she won’t survive any more of his experiments, she’ll make sure of it.

“Whoa, hey, hey, Wanda. _Wanda._ Strucker isn’t... this isn’t Hydra, kid. This sure won’t be a vacation, but it’ll be okay, this is S.H.I.E.L.D. we’re talkin’ about.”

Clint is in front of her now, trying to catch her eye. There’s a loud speaker ordering them to stand down.

She must be coming back “online” in more ways than one, because as Wanda registers his words she’s able to feel his mind as well. Panicking, she latches on, a move she would never normally make but she needs comfort, she needs Pietro, but _Pietro isn’t here_. Suddenly, Clint’s words are no longer comforting to her.

_Clint, help, please. They’re going to take me back there, they’ll kill me. I don’t want to die Clint, please, please. I know I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed, but I don’t want to die, I’m not ready._

[They wanted to see what she could do. At first, they used dolls. She quickly graduated to stray cats.]

[They starved her, wanting to see if the power from the scepter could sustain her. It could not.]

[They thought hallucinogens could enhance her abilities. They were wrong.]

[They thought sedatives could suppress her mind. Suppress they did.]

[They took turns shocking her and Pietro, testing their will as experiments and testing their bond as twins. They could, apparently, feel the other’s pain.]

[They seemed to think she was too rebellious, they wanted to break her. They kept her restrained.]

Clint looks horrified and overwhelmed.

_I’msorryI’msorry -- sorry, I didn’t mean to, that was an accident._

She slams the connection shut.

The agents are finally within arms reach. They command her and Clint to lay face down in the grass, and they obey on shaky legs.

Wanda’s breathing is shallow as she registers Clint being arrested first, and she hears him talking but can’t make out his words. She’s next, being hoisted up by her shoulders. She isn’t being cuffed, but there are so many hands on her, holding her in place with fearful hands, like she’s a bomb about to blow them to pieces.

She looks up at Clint sorrowfully, apologetic for filling his mind with her nightmares. She can no longer see his face, he’s being marched away towards an armored van. There’s some sort of commotion happening behind her but she’s fully immobilized and she tries not to panic at that, tries to remember Clint’s assurances.

Something catches her eye, above the building Clint and her came out of. Hope fills her chest, recognizing Vision’s ridiculous cape with relief. Stark is with him too, and though she doesn’t necessarily like him, she recognizes him as someone who could help her. They’re far off, probably near where Rhodey landed, but they should be here in the next couple minutes.

The agents holding her must take the sag of her relief as resistance, because their grip impossibly tightens and the commotion she’s been hearing comes to a climax as she feels a pinch in her neck.

Wanda is livid. Did they think she was resisting them? She hadn’t so much as flinched away from them, a feat she was ridiculously proud of. And now, now they drug her? Well, she’ll show them resistance, put on a show. She begins to fight the hold, happy that the powerless combat training Steve had insisted on is finally coming in handy. She manages to get one arm out, begins to pull on the trickle of power she can now feel returning to her. She frees the second arm and stands alone.

There’s a fizzle, a popping sensation in her sinuses, and red energy finally begins to swirl above her palm.

She grins and then... tries to push the agents away, but nothing happens. The energy is gone, it slipped out of her reach.

The agents are more on edge now than they were when they had her in their grasp. She isn’t sure who the desperate, cornered animal is in this situation, her or the terrified S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she’s staring down.

She doesn’t know who gives the signal, but suddenly they’re on top of her again, fast enough that she can barely counter three of them before she’s right back where she started, fully restrained. That sedative is fast-working, too...

Oh.

She feels thrown for the second time today. They sedated her.

_How did they know a sedative would even work on me? Was it their standard practice or was it specifically for me, for my powers?_

Clint’s earlier words play on repeat in her head as the approximately forty remaining agents march her towards the armored van Clint previously disappeared into. She wants to look for Vision, hell even Stark’s cocky face would be a welcome sight, but there are hands holding her fucking head in place. 

Walking is now somewhat difficult, the sedative is doing its thing, everything is turning to wool.

The agents open the reinforced doors and she sees Clint, finally, sitting handcuffed and belted into a seat. He looks at her and suddenly his intentionally bored, yet mildly frustrated expression morphs into anger. She can hear him raising his voice at the guards inside the van, protesting something.

She tries to track the conflict, but finds it difficult to follow, her eyes keep closing without her permission, and she has to remind herself that she needs to be aware of what’s happening.

Her legs are being lifted, more hands on her body. They’re moving her limbs, maybe, but she isn’t sure because her limbs don’t really feel attached to her torso. They wrap her in something, something that is stiff and smells like disinfectant. Straps are tightened and she can no longer hear Clint. Vision and Stark are totally forgotten as something dense and cold is secured around her neck.

The sedative finally does its job, and Wanda loses consciousness, settles into a wonderfully dreamless sleep.

The Raft awaits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can barely see from behind the red in her eyes.

_Wanda, hey, you need to wake up ..._

_... wake up, kid ..._

_jeez, ... they put her on?_

_... doesn’t look ... call for a guard? ..._

Wanda feels herself slowly floating up, up to the surface. Voices are getting louder, getting familiar. Before she breaks the surface, she tries to open her eyes. Oddly she meets resistance, there’s a pulling feeling, and... she is way too tired for this. 

_... hey, hey look. Her face is sorta twitching ..._

Are they talking about her? Her eyes try to open again. With a sensation she could only describe as _crunchy_ , her eyelids crack open and she lets her eyes slowly adjust to the sharp intrusion of light.

“Kid! Good to see you awake,” comes a voice from somewhere nearby. “How’re you feelin’?”

“C- Clint...?” 

Her tongue feels too large for her mouth, and she tries to adjust it, make a home for it between her teeth. She also wants to be looking for Clint, for where his voice came from, but moving her head while she moves her tongue is more than she can wrap her brain around at the moment.

Pondering the possibility that her tongue doubled in size, she realizes that the gunk around her eyes is still clinging onto her eyelids. There’s one especially annoying bit that’s sitting in her eyelashes, right in her line of sight. She frowns, tongue forgotten. She reaches her hand up.

Nothing.

She reaches her other hand up.

No hand movement, no arm movement, and certainly no movement from the eyelash crust she’s been glaring at.

Before, she hadn’t really been looking around herself, her eyes had been not-really-focused on some inconsequential bit of floor. Now, Wanda looks down at herself. 

Discoveries have been made.

One, looking down presents itself as a unique challenge, due to the presence of something thick around her neck. Looking down pushes the squishy underside of her jaw into the obstruction in a... rather unpleasant way.

Two, her arms... aren’t where they should be? She checks both sides, just to make sure, but they are certainly missing from their usual spots. Upon further investigation, she realizes that she also cannot _feel_ her arms. She’s telling her brain to wiggle her fingers, but her fingers, should they still exist, do not wiggle.

Only mildly concerned at the prospect, she now looks for Clint, and finds him standing behind bars set into the wall directly in front of her, maybe four meters away. She wants to know where they are, how they ended up here, but her mouth is lagging far behind her head.

“Wanda, look up here for a moment, will ya?”

She obliges him, finds him standing behind a barred opening in the wall, about four meters in front of her. She isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but does her best to keep her attention on him. 

His eyes search her face, making a clear effort to not look below her chin. He mutters something under his breath that she can’t catch, and turns to face his left, talking to someone she can’t see. No - he turns to her right. No... his right? If she had her hands, this would be much easier to figure out. Pietro had taught her a trick for figuring out directions with her fingers, but her hands weren’t here right now, and neither was he.

Wait -- where _was_ Pietro?

Now this, this is truly confusing. Confusing and _upsetting_ in a way that nothing else has affected her so far.

Pietro isn’t here, she can’t see him, can’t _feel_ him. She can’t even feel him the way she used to before...

Before...

_Her straightjacket smelled like bile. The air was still, which made her isolation somehow worse. If there were a draft in here, maybe she would shiver. Shivering would help her feel less like she was floating, less like she was watching her body from the corner opposite. Instead she sits on a bench and wishes she could feel Pietro. Dr. List, he had discovered a new cocktail of medications that could actually suppress her link to her brother. She didn’t even know if he was still in the facility. He could be dead, for all she knew._

_Her mother used to tell them to watch out for each other, that they needed to hold hands when they left the building and they were never to go where the other could not follow. That was one rule that Wanda and Pietro never wanted to break, an easy-to-cross line they never even felt the urge to toe._

_Now, Mother, look at us. We’ve broken your rule, we’ve broken so many, but this one hurts the most. We waltzed in here, Father, and allowed them to break us apart. I cannot protect him like this, I can’t keep him safe like I’m supposed to._

_Footsteps echo through the halls of the facility. Time to go back to work. The only silver lining, she thinks as she stands, is that she’ll be able to feel Pietro while she works. Dr. List hasn’t figured out a way to suppress specific parts of her mind, so it’s all or nothing for them to experiment on._

_A key slides into the lock on her cell, and in steps Strucker himself. He only visits on special days, the days that leave her barely alive and struggling to find a reason to stand back up. She basks in the feeling of air brushing her cheeks as they drag her out of her cell, into the dark and drafty hallway._

Wanda gasps, and jerks her arms, trying to break free of the straightjacket. She still can’t feel her hands, but that won’t stop her from getting out. She had escaped them before, many times with bruised ribs and once even with a broken wrist -- she could do it again. 

When she hears footsteps echoing through the facility, she twists and pulls harder. Strucker is here today, she just knows it. Someone calls her name, someone standing in front of her.

Oh, _god_ her head hurts and this just makes it worse. She’s never had anyone else in her cell before, and she doesn’t know how she’ll find the heart to leave them here when she breaks herself and Pietro out. She looks up, slowing her struggle for a moment, preparing herself to see the face of someone she’ll have to abandon in this ring of hell.

She sees Clint looking at her from behind iron bars.

Her face contorts in confusion, she can feel tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. She tries to tell him something, but her throat is tight from fear and overwhelming panic. All that comes out is something sad and strangled, definitely not the words she meant to say, almost too quiet to hear over her thundering pulse.

“Easy now, Wanda, we don’t need you getting hurt.” His eyes are desperate, like there’s something chasing him, or perhaps watching him, waiting for the moment to pounce. He looks like prey.

“I _need_ you to stop moving. Please, kid, for me, _don’t move_. Please.”

He wants an answer, a confirmation that she heard him.

She just nods, a few quick, shaky jerks as the tears finally spill over. She cries silently, trying to hear his every word. Nothing is making sense, she doesn’t know where she is, or how Clint got in here, her memories are becoming muddy.

“Alright... alright,” he pauses and rubs one hand on the back of his neck. “That’s good, you’re doing great, Wanda. Listen, we think you’re still comin’ down from the sedatives they gave ya. You already look way more alert than you did a few minutes ago, when you woke up. I know you’re confused, but everything will make sense soon. Okay?”

 _We?_ Who are _we_ and who are _they?_ She takes a moment to gather herself, take in his words.

“Clint, where are we?” she asks, “Where is Pietro? I... I thought I left him with you?”

His face crumples for a moment. He begins to shake his head, slowly.

“No, Wanda, he...” he licks his lips. “Maybe you should close your eyes, try and get some rest-”

“Clint,” she interrupts him sharply, “Where is my brother? I know you know.”

“Kid,” he sighs, like he’s made up his mind. Before he can continue, she cuts him off again.

“I’m not a kid.” She’s no longer crying, her body is past that point. The flood of emotion from before has left her irritable and frustrated, tired beyond belief, and Clint is not helping.

He exhales sharply, frustrated with how this conversation is going and looks over to his right again.

“Once you’ve calmed down a bit, we can tell you everything. The other two knuckleheads are just over there,” he points in to the left, where he’s been looking, “and, well - they’re telling me that I’m doing a shit job of this.”

He pauses to chuckle, trying to diffuse the situation, blanket his words. Wanda is finding it hard to parse out who the other two people are supposed to be.

“You _are_ doing a shit job of this,” she bites.

He takes a deep breath and turns to face the others, his face saying _what do I do?_

She watches his side of the silent conversation, his face contorting wildly as he shifts through panicked emotions.

Something inside of her snaps. 

The drugs may still be in her system, but she can feel _power_ inside of her, right were she can reach it. Her head feels much clearer now. It dawns on her suddenly, what has really happened, how much of a fool she has been, and she watches the man on the other side of the bars with horror.

The conversation with “the other two” seems to have filled him with a new resolve, and he turns back to her with his mouth open, ready to speak. His words die when he sees her face, his newfound resolve shifts back to worry.

_He looks like he’s diffusing a bomb. They looked at her like she was a bomb about to blow them all to pieces._

“I know what this is,” she stares at him stonily.

As subtly as she can manage, she continues trying to manipulate herself out of the straightjacket. “You’ve stolen another face, you’re still trying to gain my trust. Or maybe you’re trying to break me. Either way, it won’t work. I know your tricks, List, you’ve held me for too long.

“Something is different this time. I can feel it. But you’re the same monster you’ve always been. And I’ll continue to do what I always do.”

Wanda leans forward. Something is stirring.

“I’ll ask you again, Doc. Where is Pietro?”

The man in front of her looks like he has no clue what to say. Hydra must have upped its budget for the freak science experiment division, this poor schmuck is a great actor.

The power inside is consuming her, all of the negative emotions that had been tugging her to and fro are now feeding into her panic. Despair, fear, confusion, -- all still present, but buried beneath a haze.

She can barely see from behind the red in her eyes.

“Wanda, it’s me, it’s Clint -- y’know, Hawkeye!” he tries to smile, but his face remains haggard, “Coolest ex-Avenger. Ring a bell?”

Feeling is somehow returning to her hands, though she hasn’t removed the straightjacket yet. Pins and needles explode up her arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you. You’ll be free to go if you _just_ tell me what I need.

_Where. Is._

_Pietro?”_

“Pietro, he... Wanda, he isn’t here. Don’t you remember Ultron? The destruction of Novi Grad? I think you’re confused, kid, Pietro died, about six months ago.” 

She scoffs. “You’re lying.”

How dare they. How dare they use him like this, treat his death like a variable in their little tests. What this man says, it strikes a distant chord in her heart, tugs a painful string. She doesn’t know how they did it, everything in her head is so scrambled. It’s like that time Pietro taught her how to do a cartwheel and she threw up he lunch promptly afterwards.

“You are lying to my face. I won’t play along with you, not this time.”

She punctuates her statement by busting the seams of her straightjacket clean apart, fabric unravelling to thread.

In an instant, she’s in front of him. There’s a deep pain within him, she can sense it as she approaches and she almost feels sorry for him.

Her eyes close and she reaches out, looking for information on her brother, where he’s being kept. She’s breaking them out this time, she swears it to herself. They’ve done enough, they aren’t helping anyone by being tortured in these cells. They can change the world somewhere else, somewhere where they can be together again.

His mind is strangely familiar, and information on Pietro is not difficult to find. This man had been thinking of him, while they were talking, it was easy to pluck out of his consciousness. But, this thought, this conviction that Pietro had died... It was solid, unwavering. He was certain of it, and he was deeply emotional, he was grieving. 

_No._

She examined this feeling, she pulled at it. She found a memory, Pietro being shot, he was shielding a child.

_**No.** _

She remembered this too. She had felt every bullet, she breathed his last breath. No wonder she could not feel him.

_Pietro was dead._

Grief hit her like a freight train, ending the split second it took her to enter this man’s mind and recover his memories, her memories. It was over. The world was moving in slow-motion around her, but it was like time had stopped.

It was drafty in here.

Wanda collapses to her knees. Red. It was all red, everything she saw, she felt, she heard. The tears in her eyes only added to the effect, it was like she was swimming in a pool of rubies. Her chest was pulsing, not just with her grief, but with surges of red energy being forced out from between her ribs. They started off weakly, but were growing stronger each passing second, would soon become visible to the man she’s been talking to.

_Pietro was dead, and she was stuck with Hydra._

The power within her is overflowing, it feels dangerous. She stands, shakily, and looks around her, at the man in front of her, at the facility she is doomed to die in.

“I can fix this.” She clenches her hands a few times. She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, the man or herself. He might be talking to her, but what he has to say to her doesn’t matter anymore.

“I- I can fix this, I can get us out of here. I was o- only planning on saving Pietro, but-” she inhales sharply. “Peitro cannot be saved. Not anymore. But you and I, we can leave. You have kids, don’t you? I saw them, you think of them often. I’ll take you to them.”

She ends her rambling by raising her fists.

“No! Wanda, _please,_ don’t, you’re going to get hurt-” 

His pleading is interrupted by a tickling sensation at her throat. It quickly grows more painful, becoming a shock she can feel in her bones, it’s like her body is on fire.

Before she collapses for a second time, the power within her shifts -- it’s found an outlet.

Shattered to pieces, the remnants of the shock collar fall to the floor around her feet. What’s been started, however, she cannot stop. Years of emotion and trauma, locked away, finally let free.

Everything _hurts so much_ and she doesn’t know how to make it stop. Grief, pain, fear and confusion, all overwhelming her, overwhelming the _something_ inside of her that began to stir earlier.

She looks over at the man -- Clint? -- and tries to reassure him with a smile, to tell him that she’ll protect him.

It looks like her musing has come true. She really is a bomb.

There’s an explosion of scarlet, and then everything is black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> I really surprised myself by managing to get this one done, turns out you shouldn't start a big multi-chapter fic during finals week :'] tags will be updated soon to match this chapter (though not much will be added this time around, I don't think) see you all again next week!!
> 
> oh, and shameless hozier plug for the chapter summary line :)

**Author's Note:**

> I currently have 15 chapters planned, but I have a feeling some of those might be split if they get too lengthy. any/all feedback is appreciated and treasured. if you're curious about an upload schedule... I unfortunately do not have one of those :') I'm really gunning for a new chapter every one to two weeks, but we'll see. tags will be updated as story is written/uploaded
> 
> please let me know if there is a better way to tag any sensitive content. there won't be gratuitous or graphic depictions of violence, I promise, but it will be a horror fic and the tags are accurate.


End file.
